


How Kurt Hummel Endured the Superbowl

by tealeaf523 (ConstantComment)



Category: Glee
Genre: American Football, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/tealeaf523
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt was actually sort of enjoying pretend-(NO, NOT PRETEND)-watching football.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Kurt Hummel Endured the Superbowl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonstarlight on Livejournal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dragonstarlight+on+Livejournal).



Alright. He was going to try, this time. Football kind of made him want to vomit, even if loud pop music was blaring out of the speakers during the whole game. But he was going to do it.

Kurt Hummel was going to sit through the Superbowl with his dad and Finn man-of-his-dreams Hudson, he was going to sit through the creepy football food, and he was going to sit through the half-time show without squealing like a fanboy when Beyoncé and Lady Gaga performed.

Between applying his toner and moisturizer, he wondered briefly why the hell and _how_ the hell they had got Lady Gaga to perform at a football game.

 _I guess with enough money she’s even willing to put on a sequined football and sing her heart out._ He hoped her fake eyelashes were out of this world.

“I know you’re not really excited to watch the game with us, Son, but at least make it up here in time for the kick-off.”

“I’m _coming_ , Dad!” Kurt called up the stairs. He grabbed his Citizens from his bed and practically jumped into them, really not wanting to mess things up. He’d barely convinced them that we was ‘allowed’ to come and watch. He couldn’t mess it up, now. This was for his dad and for Finn. “Shit. A shirt.” Kurt opened his drawer and rifled through everything, but nothing looked remotely… straight. “Finn?”

There was rumbling as Finn probably ran to the basement door. Kurt looked up to see Finn leaning over the railing, smiling widely in his Ohio State Marines shirt. “What up, dawg?”

Kurt cocked an eyebrow before asking, “Could I borrow your football jersey?”

“Uhh…”

“I don’t have anything appropriate to wear—”

“You look good in anything. And besides, we don’t care…” Finn trailed off, spying the look of irritation on Kurt’s face. “…Sure, bud. Of course you can borrow it. It’s in the closet.”

“Thanks, Finn.”

Finn looked away before pointing over his shoulder. “I’m gonna…”

Kurt shooed him with a flick of his hand and shed his silk shirt, walking absently over to the standing mirror and donning a white v-neck tee, which accentuated his slim waist quite nicely, before shrugging the jersey over his head. The jersey hit just above the curve of his ass, so if anyone were to take a peek they wouldn’t be frustrated by layers and layers of fabric. Not that they _would_ be taking a peek, but Kurt liked to dream. He was about to check his hair when he spotted Finn, still bent over the railing, staring blankly at him.

“Hudson,” Kurt snapped.

That certainly had the desired reaction. Finn swung back and hit his head on the ceiling, yowled and mumbled some apologies before bounding up the stairs.

“Finn, how I love you and your strange behavior and wonderful stupidity,” Kurt muttered to himself before fixing his hair for the last time and stepping purposefully up the staircase.

To his doom. Of the sports network variety.

Burt and Finn were already seated next to one another, plunging their hands into popcorn and Doritos bags and sipping at beer and grape soda (because the kids weren’t allowed to drink). Which was a real pity, because Kurt would have to watch this event _sober._

“Bummer,” Kurt mouthed, and sat in the only available seat on the couch, next to Finn.

Finn smiled crookedly and glanced at Kurt’s outfit before stuffing a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

It was in the middle of the second quarter that Kurt’s dad fell asleep. Apparently, the game was terrible and uninteresting, which Kurt had thought even before they turned the TV on. But, Kurt was determinedly watching each play and not paying any attention to the kicker’s muscled legs, or how sexy the running back looked with dirt smeared across his cheek, sweaty hair flicking out of his eyes when he shed his helmet.

Kurt was actually sort of enjoying pretend-( _NO, NOT PRETEND_ )-watching football.

Burt let out a loud, rattling snore, his head flopping back against the couch, and that was pretty much the end of his participation.

Kurt could feel rather than hear Finn’s laughter as a Budweiser commercial boomed out of the speakers. Finn nudged him, and Kurt turned to his step-brother, frowning.

“This doesn’t normally happen, does it?” Kurt asked skeptically, mime-prodding at his father’s arm.

“No,” Finn said, shaking his head. “It’s just this game is _really, really bad_. You’d think two teams who beat everyone else would put up a fight, but…”

“Well, maybe everyone else was _really, really bad_ , too?”

“I guess so. There were a couple of good games this season.”

“Is that so?”

Finn seemed to think about this for a while. “Well, no, not really.”

“Hum,” Kurt supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s pretty lame. I got all dressed up for The Worst Superbowl Ever?”

Finn punched him lightly. “Kurt, you didn’t dress up for the Superbowl. You dressed up for _me_. Don’t lie.” Finn grinned and snatched up Burt’s beer, offering it to Kurt before taking a big gulp.

Meanwhile, Kurt spluttered. “I—you—buh—shh—!”

Finn smirked.

“I did no such thing!”

“Yeah, well, those rosy cheeks say different.”

“Finn, my cheeks are rosy twenty-four-seven.”

“True.” Finn flicked at a small puddle of beer on the top of the can with his long, pointed tongue, distracting Kurt for a good second before glancing at him again. “It’s kinda cute, though.”

Kurt proceeded to lunge toward the coffee table and shove some Cheetos in his mouth to prevent himself from saying something completely stupid.

“Dude,” Finn said.

“…Dude,” Kurt replied around a mouthful. The word sounded a little more like ‘doob’, though.

“Don’t, like, choke and die, please.”

Kurt smiled, swallowing finally and wiping daintily at the corners of his mouth. He sighed, watching as the blue team failed to make a touchdown yet again.

“Hey, Kurt?” Finn’s voice was hushed, like he was telling a secret. There was a clink of metal on glass as Finn set the empty beer can back in front of Burt.

Kurt turned to him and was taken by surprise when his nose knocked right into Finn’s.

“Ow. _Shit!_ ” Kurt hissed, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose. “Finn!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Let me look at it.”

“If you broke it…” Kurt’s words died in his mouth at the moment Finn’s fingers touched his jaw.

“Does this hurt?” Finn asked as he lightly prodded Kurt’s nose here and there.

Kurt’s eyes fluttered closed. “Not too bad. There’s no swelling, is there?”

“No.” A thumb smoothed across his cheek, dry and warm. “No, your face is fine.”

“I’m not bleeding, am I?”

“Nope. No blood.” Fingers traced the furrow of his brow before flitting softy, delicately over an eyelid, like Kurt was a little porcelain doll and could break with harsher treatment.

Kurt’s breath hitched.

“You’re so pretty when you make a huge deal out of stuff,” Finn mumbled.

Kurt didn’t have any time for a witty retort that might include Finn’s penchant for eloquence, because Finn’s chapped lips were pressing against his, big hands cradling Kurt’s heated cheeks. His nose was squashed against Finn’s cheek but Finn was backing away!—oh—just to come back and press another kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth. Finally, Kurt gasped quietly, allowing for Finn to slip his tongue past Kurt’s lips and flick once, twice against Kurt’s tongue. Their mouths closed, overlapping one another, and they kissed for a long time switching angles so they could better climb into each other’s mouths… or at least, that’s how it seemed to Kurt. It wasn’t weird or anything. Just…

 _Closer!_ Kurt thought fleetingly.

Finn seemed to answer him intuitively, one hands dropping to just above Kurt’s right knee, fingers slipping between his jeans and the nubby sofa, pulling his leg over so Kurt sort-of-kind-of-straddled Finn’s legs. Kurt nearly fell into Finn, but Finn’s unoccupied hand cupped his waist to steady him.

There was a moment where they parted, lips red and shiny with spit and eyes hooded—well, Kurt’s were probably wide as saucers, but anyway. They looked at each other, Kurt’s hands in fists against Finn, who was holding Kurt around the waist and still had a grip on his knee.

All was quiet in that moment, where all Kurt could hear was the rapid hammering of his heart, until the sound of another loud, obnoxious Old Spice commercial came onscreen, startling them out of the weird… whatever they were just having.

“I. Uhm,” Finn said, sparing a quick glance for Burt, who was still snoring only a foot or two away.

“Yes,” Kurt returned succinctly.

And then they kissed again, this time with roaming hands and soft, damp exhalations against skin. Finn was all muscle, Kurt discovered while passing a palm down his chest. Finn inhaled sharply, muscles contracting under the tickling caress, but wasn’t _too_ taken aback, because he shoved his hands under the football jersey, fingers tugging at Kurt’s tee shirt until he reached creamy skin and peach fuzz hair in the dip of Kurt’s spine. Kurt arched back, pressing against the warm body beneath him and head falling back.

Finn took advantage of this, too, beginning at Kurt’s collar and pressing kisses up the column of Kurt’s throat until he reached a spot just under Kurt’s ear, nose brushing against Kurt’s earlobe as he mouthed that patch of skin.

Kurt seized Finn’s forearms, going rigid in his embrace as his entire body erupted in goose bumps.

“Finn…” Kurt whispered, mouth dropping open as his jeans seemed to shrink, become too tight.

Finn chose that moment to suck, hard, on that same sensitive spot.

Kurt dug his nails into Finn’s wrists. “Ah—!”

Things happened very quickly after that, as Burt snorted loudly and shook his head. Kurt found himself flung backwards into the small space between his father and Finn, and he tried to recover as quickly as possible. He flipped onto his side, adopting an expression of avid interest as his dad tried to get his bearings.

“How we doin’?” Burt asked, clapping his hands together.

Finn, luckily, answered although his voice was a little squeaky. “Patriots scored a touchdown five minutes ago.”

“Christ, this game,” Burt muttered.

Kurt nudged Finn’s leg with his foot before slowly reseating himself and crossing his legs. “How was your nap, Dad?”

“Had a funny dream that raccoons were mating under the porch and Carole was screaming to let them have their love affair because they’d been waiting all—” Burt cut himself off. “Never mind.”

“Interesting,” Finn said noncommittally before adjusting his jeans.

Kurt watched out of the corner of his eye as Finn bit his lip, trying to surreptitiously press his palm against his crotch.

Kurt licked his lips.

And they sat through the halftime show, watching Kurt’s idols strut their stuff in sequined glory, before the teams returned to the field, looking morose and dirty.

Kurt didn’t squeal once, although he nearly cried after their duet of “Halo.”

Burt dozed off again about seven minutes before the third quarter, in the middle of _“Telephone”_ , for God’s sake.

Which allowed for Kurt to slip a hand between Finn’s legs without even a blink—hey, if his dad woke up, he didn’t want another heart-attack-inducing scramble to avoid any extremely awkward family dinners in the future. Finn’s jaw dropped, hands gripping the edge of the sofa cover, knuckles white, as Kurt pressed lightly and began to rub the still noticeable bulge in Finn’s jeans.

Finn thrust weakly into Kurt’s hand, erection growing beneath Kurt’s fingers. Kurt spared a look at Finn, and their eyes met. Finn was practically smoldering at him, eyes hooded and bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Kurt pressed down harder, setting the pace, before turning casually to the screen.

“Fuck,” Finn breathed, head dropping against the back of the sofa with a soft, ‘thmp.’

Kurt blushed, trying very hard not to break out into a grin as he wrapped his fingers around as much of the girth as he could reach through the worn denim.

“Sto—Kurt, stop,” he whispered.

Kurt picked up the pace, gripping tightly at the head before stroking down the seam of Finn’s jeans, fingers flitting against his balls.

Finn groaned silently, mouth falling open.

Kurt stroked faster, biting his lip as Finn pushed against his hand almost involuntarily, erection throbbing beneath Kurt’s palm.

“Kurt…”

“Yes?” Kurt whispered, turning to Finn, never letting up. In fact, he might have quickened the pace, seeing the look of intense pleasure that contorted Finn’s features.

Finn’s brow furrowed, almost as if he was in pain, before he grabbed Kurt’s hand, holding it there, cried out softly and, hips jerking once, twice—

“ _Unh!_ ”

—came in his jeans.

“Huh, what?” Burt mumbled.

“Nothing, Dad, go back to sleep,” Kurt said quietly, blushing to his toes, as Finn still had his hand in a death grip against his crotch.

“Kurt,” Finn hissed, clenching his jaw, eyes still closed, “When this is over, I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

Kurt supposed that was supposed to be a threat, but his own erection didn’t take offense at all.

Kurt re-crossed his legs, folded his hands over his knees, and turned his attention to the TV in time to see the team in black intercept the ball with nine minutes to go.

What an eventful Superbowl. It might go down in history as the best Superbowl _Kurt_ would ever watch.

-The End (but not for Kurt)-


End file.
